This Isn't What It Looks Like
by zootycoon346
Summary: No, really, I know it LOOKS like what you're thinking, but really, it's not. I'm not Aida, nor do I know her or her comrades. Well, I dated Jace for a bit, but then he DITCHED me for this Aida hippie. I am an original character! And shut up, just because I like this ONE Eagle, doesn't mean that I don't still think they resemble chickens more! Rated T for language-but nothing bad.
1. Eagles? Where's the resemblence?

**** Hey! This is my first Ascension thingy! Read and review - I also accept PMs! Hey, and please tell me if there's any ideas for this story that you have - that would be soooo cool beans!**

They don't really resemble birds much.

I'm staring at one now. To be honest, I'm not that bothered about whether I appear rude or not; at this stage, I'm quite happy to be so. But he doesn't really look like a bird. He looks kind of sad – well, at least he looks sullen with only his green eyes visible.

Sighing, I collapse backward on the damp stone floor. Sure it hurts, but considering the fact that I am now biting myself to occupy the miserly hours, it isn't much. Arms sprawled at careless angles above my head, I look up into the mouldy ceiling. Guess what I see?

No, it's not my hero, not my prince charming come to rescue me on the back of his palomino horse. I've given up on my fantasy blondie now. I was crushing on this daydream for all of two months, but he's been taking such a bloody long time to save me that I've given up on him – yep, you heard me right, we're over.

I see some slime. Khaki drippy gunge that hangs lankly off a misshapen beam, jutting at an irregular angle from the walls. Oh my gosh, shock horror! Not the slime of doom!

Being a prisoner sucks. Especially when your imprisoner is an Eagle. Like I said, where did the name come from? I've been accustomed to them for three and a half months now, and I ain't seen no wings on 'em.

Should I describe myself to you? Well, I'm not sure where to begin. It's been quite some time since I looked in the mirror, so I may have aged dramatically, acquired facial hair or something depressing like that.

I suppose I'm still a girl. I'm still seventeen. I'm still Ann Riven, the beautiful, daring and unshakeable Ann Riven. That's what my boyfriend last said to me. Two years back before he ditched me for some hippie called Aida.

The bah-humbug Eagle is still here, taking a suspiciously long time to refill my water, tighten the knots on my ankles and wrists and top up my rations for today: bread, potatoes and some kind of stringy crap for meat. More carefully, I look at him. His view is downcast to my ankles where he's doing up the precise knots again. I look more intensely at his fingers; shaking, bloodless and fixing the rope rather forlornly.

"Done my wrists yet?" I say sarcastically to him. Instantly, he flinches at his addressing and tumbles backwards into a column.

Lets just say, I haven't laughed like this in a long time. I feel sad when I stop laughing at the Eagle, because he's verily knocked out.

"Oi!" I call, irritated, over to him, "I need some food, you know! What do you take me for, some kind of stick insect? I'll have you know that I'm a _goat _right now!"

Nope. No response. Out cooooold – no, out _freezing_ would be a better word to use.

Brilliant. If an Eagle comes in now, they'll probably think that _I _whacked his lights out; next thing I'll be in chains.

I didn't want to do this. It'll wake him up if I do, and then I won't get chained up, but he'll see me doing it and will probably snitch to another Chicken (Eagle, sorry!) and I'll get less food, most likely. But that's better than chains!

Levering myself up on my elbows, I then wriggled forwards on my belly as far as I can go. And come out of the ropes entirely.

You're probably gaping; if I can escape, then why don't I? Well, it's because outside there's a guard with twenty-five blades arranged neatly down the inside of his armour. So maybe I shouldn't _try _get most of my ribs cracked.

I can escape because they always use the wrong knots. If you twist your feet ninety degrees left twice, ninety degrees right twice, pump your legs up and down like pistons an then curve the balls of your feet at a particular angles, they loosen up enough for you to get out. You do the same thing for your wrists too, only with your arms instead of your legs, duh.

Anyway, here I am, moving towards this unconscious Eagle. And what do I do?

I slap him hard on the face. Thrice.


	2. Apple

"Ahh … oww …?"

The Chicken (a.k.a Eagle) blearily raises his hand to rub his startling pink slap-mark. Oops. Maybe I overdid it. Blinking heavily, his pupils dilate momentarily, and then focus on me.

"Hm?! H … wha!? How did you get ou-!"

For some reason, the last word of his astonished sentence becomes stifled. Possibly it has something to do with my hand that has somehow become shoved against his mouth, but something tells me that it's entirely coincidental. Well, maybe it's just a gut feeling …

I don't give him time to breath.

"Don't say a thing, don't breath a word to anyone, I am still tied up, I am definitely a prisoner, etcetera," I hiss threateningly into his ear, "And I am very, very hungry."

At first he just stares at me. Well, who wouldn't? I glare right back … but my concentration starts to waver. How can somebody have eyes that green? Is it physically possible? I'd trade my boring old brown ones for his vibrant green ones quicker than you can say 'Valond Priestess'! I mean, with no offense to people with brown eyes – I'm sure you're perfectly cute even without brilliant green eyes.

"What'll happen if I don't?"

I'm shockwaved out of my gazing. Horrified, I feel a pink tinge settle over my cheeks. I want to turn away, in sheer embarrassment, for just _looking _at him in such a perverted away. Then again, I shouldn't be blushing – he's only a boring old turkey, right?

"Then …" I mutter, struggling to come up with a good excuse to not grass on my escape method, "Then … then I shall be very disappointed in you."

Oh, drunken dwarves! What a brutal punishment to hand out. My disappointment! I suppose I'll kill him with my death glare, right? Knock him out with my hands-on-hips attack?

"Oh, god, that's severe. Oh, I won't tell anybody anything, don't worry – wouldn't want your _disappointment_," the Eagle grins at me, jade eyes flashing mischeviously. Again, what is the _deal _with those _eyes_? I'm worried I'll go into a trance if I watch them for too long …

"You bet," I nod in mock grimness, sneaking back into my ropes, "Now, tie me up again, won't you? Or do you dare to face my disappointment?"

"Most certainly not, most noble … ?"

"Ann, Ann Riven. And you are my slave …?"

"Well, I'm just a humble servant, my lady," says the Eagle, bowing his head in a parody of modesty, "But my full name is Loren Stone."

Funny, heh? I never thought I'd be exchanging names with a shitty _Turtledove _or whatever it was. He tightened the ropes (again) on my ankles and (again) on my wrists.

"Food?" I said hopefully, perking up to what my stomach had been demanding for a fair few rumblers by now.

"I'll leave it on the plate here. And also, I'll be going now, Lady Riven."

Surprisingly, I'm a little saddened. I guess I haven't had talking company for weeks on end now, and even a Pigeon's company is better than none.

"Right, then. See you, Loren the slave."

I do my best to wave with my hands tied around the back of my head, but promptly fall over. He laughs, waves, and then, just before he goes out, says:

"Yeah, and that dinner of yours looks total cockroach intestines, so I snuck some, like, fruit from the kitchen."

He's gone before I can thank him. I look into the plate. There's a cute little apple sitting there between the other roadkill.

And actually, I think I'd prefer his company rather than eat that apple.


	3. Not the Only Idiot

****Hey there! Thanks, ButterTardis, for all your nice reviews - and for being so dedicated to Doctor Who! To everyone: this chapter's a bit longer than the others, I think, but the language is more frequent and naughtier ;)! It had to be done, though, to build the characters and create the mood. Enjoy!**

Every time a rooster came into my cell, I would carefully examine the colour of their eyes. Not a single green one. Twelve blue eyes, seven grey ones, nine brown ones and two black ones, but not a single one of them as green as Loren's.

But waiting for a vulture is rather tiresome. Soon, I'm back to thwacking against the floor to make myself pass out, just to get through the hours. It's not long before that has occurred three times, each event marked with three lumps on my poor little bonce. Well, maybe not poor. It's been through a few scrapes, this noggin.

In fact, when Loren _does _get his turn to do all the stuff that prisoners get done to, I'm in the middle of trying to achieve unconsciousness.

"My lady, I am extremely sorry for the delay."

I look up far too quickly. Instantly, I feel my temples pulse and my brain swirl. Loren does somersaults right in front of my eyes. I have to bunch my legs up to my head to stop myself fainting; and right when I needed to do so, too!

"You feelin' okay?"

"Guess," I mumble sarcastically, letting myself fall back when the throbbing has died down.

Now, then, if there's one thing that I really didn't have to see, it was what I saw when I raised my head.

"Bloody hell!" I choked, both hands flying to my mouth, "What happened to _you_?! Is _this _the reason for the so-called 'delay'?!"

Prepare yourself. The bloodless skin on his face is gaunt, mottled and bruised, a waterfall of cascading dried blood has frozen is time on one side of his face, while on the other side he has several black eyes overlapping on the _same eye _and a slash mark running down his neck. And if you can't picture that, then just don't try to.

He grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck with his similarly injured arm.

"I'm not gonna say it was no biggie. It bleeding _hurt-"_

"Literally," I butt in angrily.

"Yeah, literally, blood everywhere. But, em, it was all in good cause," he tails off lamely.

I don't want to press him, not in a state like this, and I have _wanted _a 'human, relatable and actually talkative' pheasant to talk to for AGES, but…

"What cause? Save the rainforest? Liths-in-need?" I splutter, forgetting about my splitting headache as I manage to get to a stand (the ropes were off since the start of this chapter, I'm not a mage or anything like that).]

"Ladies-in-need. I wasn't heroic; I didn't know I'd get into _any_ sort of bother over it, but … that apple. The fact I stole it … and gave it to the woman who took out five Eagles … didn't pay off well."

Suddenly, I'm running around the room like some elf possessed, raging and fuming like … well, like some _dwarf _possessed.

"Idioooooot!" I exclaim, hopping as if the slimy floor is made from hot coals, "Idiotidiotidiotidiotidiotidiotidiotidiot!Whatinthefuckwereyouthinkinyouassholeyougottorturedandbeatenupandupandupjust'causeyouwantedtogivemeableeding_apple_thatI'dhavebeenpperfectlyfine_without_gaaahandIthoughtyouweresmart … no, I didn't think you were smart … you passed out when I did as much as _talked _to you …"

"Oi!" Loren flushes red in embarrasement, "I hit my head off solid rock, okay! Not from socialisation!"

"I've been trying to do that all f*cking _day_! You knock yourself out like a _pansy_!" I bellow with all my might.

He's about to retort. But suddenly, there's a deafening CRASH and the twenty-five-daggered guard bursts in.

"Stone! What the hell's happening in here!?" he demands, looking so murderous that if looks could kill, Loren would've died three minutes ago.

"Nought! Just teachin' this scamp a lesson, but y'know, she ain't nothin' to waste it on. Through one ear, out the other. I've done my rounds, so I'll go do some trainin' in the grounds," Loren says roughly, picking up an entirely different accent when talking to the guard; is this so that he fits in better with the others? He talks way softer with me. That kind of cheers me up. Guilty instantly floods me; I've just shouted him down, possibly earned him a whipping, because he's beat up. _I'm _the idiot.

The guard scowls at me.

"For once, you're right, Stone. She's a right bitcher, this one. Killed five of us Eagles, y'know! Bloody menace," he growls. Anger replaces the guilt quicker than a heartbeat – how _dare _he insult me like that!

He's already outside, though, along with Loren. No parting words, no anything, nothing to praise me for mucking up the thing I've been waiting for for so long. Yep. That's me. I'm an idiot.

Three seconds later, I'm banging my head so hard on the floor that I black out fast.

In the bowl, there's a grapefruit.


	4. TrUtH bEhInD iT aLL

****Again, thank you, ButterTardis for your wonderful reviews; I have absolutely no idea why I put a grapefruit – it was probably more of a gut feeling, you know? Anyway, there is one word of strong language in here, but I had to put it down for reasons that any dedicated author should know. Read and review!**

Next time I see him, I don't shout. I don't even talk. I just hold up the grapefruit, which has now gone off and has softened inside and out. I stare at him.

"What?" Loren exclaims after five minutes had snailed by and nothing had been said, "They were going to give it to the bloodhounds anyway; it was just leftovers!"

"You're so _full _of yourself!" I cry out suddenly, "What makes you think you'll get away with it _this _time!?"

Hands still redoing the ropes that bind me, he hesitates.

"I don't think I'll get away with it … it's just 'cause it's funny," he smirks.

"Funny!"

I'm outraged. It is most certainly NOT funny! What kind of twisted weirdo gets themselves whipped to the bone for a JOKE?!

"Well, maybe not _funny,_" Loren rewinds hastily, "It's more _revenge _on the fact that I have _nothing _to lose …"

That stops me in my retorting plans.

"Wait … so you don't _want _to be an Eagle?" I realise softly.

Again, what on earth is going on with those eyes? Is he crying? Wait – no, he's not. His emerald eyes are just shiny because he's … angry?

"_Duh _I don't want to be an Eagle! I _hate _Eagles! I was _forced _into this because … because they threatened to kill my little s-sister …"

Okay, now he's crying. I really shouldn't have said that. Jerk Of The Year award clearly describes _me_.

"Um … um, well you did become an Eagle, so they won't have killed her," I try to say with one hundred percent faith.

And I bet he only replies because I forced myself not to put a hopeful _'right?' _on the end.

"How should you know?" Loren shivers, "I don't know. Nobody knows. I just want to see her again … if I get out of here alive."

"You must really love her," I smile, wishing that I have family to dote on like Loren does.

Without warning, he stands up from his kneel, and makes to walk out of the room.

"Hey!" I say, annoyed, "Don't you walk out on _me _like th-"

"Of course I love her. She's only eight months old."

Ice replaces all the roadways of blood in my veins. Of course, of course _of course_ he didn't want to be a partridge.

What kind of bastard threatens to kill your baby sister?

And, even though I can bellow at him for leaving a pineapple in the dish this time as he's just on the cusp of departure, I feel such _misery _for him that I don't.

Hey, how on earth could someone steal a whopping _pineapple_?


	5. Rainbows Yet No Puppy Dogs

I'm still missing both purple and green.

Okay, okay. So beat me. I've already had my weekly interrogation, and I only just escaped an infuriated turtledove's whipping because Loren quickly intervened with some parrot's birthday cake. Birthday cake? Fowls have birthday cakes? Hey, now even _I'm _considering becoming an Eag- no, wait, I'm not. Loren's last words still echo around my brain, springing a new well of pain with each reverberating BAM!

But yeah, back onto the subject of missing colours.

"Yo, my feathered friend, you seen any purple shmurples around here?" I say, heavily bored, to the quail that heeds my needs. Ooh, _heeds my needs_! I could become the most awesome poet in Arunia! Yeah, that's right, I'll knock all 'em high and mighty elves off their pretty little clean pedestals (yeah, you might've noticed; I don't like elves).

"What the hell are you on about now, warthog?" sighs the canary unhelpfully. I could probably have done without the latter comment.

"God, I'm complimented. And in return, I'll praise you with the grand title _slug king_. That's right, you ooze along now, mollusc."

Now he's just ignoring me. Guess I can't blame him. I mean, at least I didn't hit a nerve on one of the vainer asses; they'd have had my guts for garters.

He leaves pretty soon after, without a single pointer in the direction of a purple object. Nice.

I've had red, on my list of colours-of-the-whole-bloody-rainbow in my head, as well as orange, yellow, blue, pink, brown, black, grey and white. It was a suggestion from Sir Stone himself (my newfound nickname for Loren) that I find all the colours of the rainbow while waiting for his arrival. He had said he'd come again today, at around evening. Right now, the golden sun was drooping wearily, slipped three-quarters down the pinking sky.

That was pink, the sky, by the way, and also yellow, the sun. I also counted the sun as orange as it was halfway between the two colours anyway.

Red was my blood. Hey, I've been accustomed to seeing it running away from me before. It was a little unnerving having me bite myself a few months ago, a dare from my inner devil. I mean, why would my _own blood _run away from me? It was a philosophical question, in my totally un-philosophical mind, and I didn't like it. But yeah.

Orange, as I've said before, was for the sun, as well as yellow. Blue for the veins running rivers down the inside of my wrist. Pink for the end-of-day sky outside the heavily barred, tiny window – the window is as big as three of my heads lined up next to each other; not a very pleasant imagine for me, but at least you can get some idea of the limited vista around these parts (i.e. my cell). Black for my hair … well, actually no, it's an extremely dark brown, but I cheat soooo much anyway that it doesn't make a difference, plus, people think it's black anyway, so ha. Brown for my ochre eyes, grey for the walls and white for my skin, pretty much. So where's the purple, and where's the green?


	6. Its Not for the Want, but for the Need

"Did you find them all?"

Swiftly, he knots the bindings with the most complex fingering manoeuvres yet (probably to buy more time to talk) and refills the water and food at the speed of light; yet again, there's another fruit at the bottom. Today, a plum. I've given up on yelling at him already.

"Ah … hey, I found _nine _already. I even found _pink_," I say as if he has been criticising on the fact that I didn't find two of them, "That's pretty good."

"In the space of five hours?" he scoffs, "I think not! Surely you'd have been able to find them all, and I thought you might even move on to multicolours, or maybe more obscure colours, like silver, or heliotrope!"

"Well _A_, I slept for three hours, _B_, I can't really see much of a view from here and _C_, how the hell was I supposed to find green and purple?!"

Now comes the twist. I'd kind of guessed it coming on from the beginning – you could see the devilish gleam in those brilliant eyes of his – but I thought he'd just brought me a watermelon or maybe an aubergine this time, but no.

"Well, I thought about it, and I figured that you might get caught up on those two … so …"

He holds up the plum from the dish and points to his eyes.

"… I bought this plum, and myself!"

He grins as if this is very clever of him, which, of course, it is.

"I can see why they wanted _you _as a chickadee … um, Eagle … no offense intended," I smirk.

"Yeah."

Deep in thought, I munch vacantly on my plum, unaware that I am being watched closely.

"You're alright with it, then."

"Hm?"

I'm snapped out of my daydreaming abruptly. Loren is looking at me so intently that it's embarrassing.

"You're alright with the fact I'm an Eagle, right?"

I don't even pause. My lines have been learned off by heart. It was going to have been asked sometime, but I'd already told myself the answer a long time ago. With days to yourself in a lonely jackdaw's basement, you find yourself thinking over things you never thought you'd briefly _know _about – before they took you away, of course. They said they were imprisoning me with 'justified cause' … to hell they were **not**.

"'Course I'm fine and dandy with all that stuff," I smile back, taking him off guard, "I mean, if I wasn't, I wouldn't even let you within seven inches of me – unless you were just doing the routine – without kicking your ass until it went bright helio … helotrop … no, halotrope?"

Cursing myself for trying to be such a smarty-pants, I turn to Loren for help. He grins widely, obviously fully prepared to succeed where I have failed.

"It's _heliotrope_. It's a kind of bluey-purply colour, I think. The first time I went to Ildis-"

"Hang on, you went to _Ildis_? The land of the moonies?" I cut in, astonsished, "I almost _envy _you! Except I don't of course, because elves are the drippiest vain skinny bums in the whole of Arunia. They just have nice shops. I'm gonna go there one day."

To this, of course, he laughs. Not loudly, not a belly-laugh, more of a snigger. But not a snigger. I hate that word, plus he's not mocking me. Using the word _snigger _makes it sound as if he's Draco Malfoy, which, of course, he's not. Maybe _chuckle _or _chortle _are better phrases, but now he would sound like an old man, and I can guess that he's at least twenty one. Maybe he's _snickering_? That's a combination of the two, right? Or _snuckling_? Yes, he's snuckling. What an amazing word.

"Go there?" he snuckles, "_You_? Well, sorry to burst your _bubble_, but you can't really go out and see the world in your locks and chains. Why are you even barred up here anyway? I want a compelling case."

"You want compelling? You got compelling. Story of my life in a nutshell; lived nice and happy with my beautiful mama and my handsome papa and my darling baby brother until the wicked witches came in the forms of Eagles. Poor daddy owed them some money, but he hadn't had his payday yet. You know what they did? Ooh, they got _angry_ mister, very _angry_. Death threats, blackmail, blah blah blah. Then they took it too far and took Baby Bro as a hostage. Well, Big Sis didn't like it. You follow? Big Sis got UBER angry. Big Sis killed the bastards who kidnapped Baby Bro. Tragic Magic – them Eagles murdered my family. Baby Bro was slaughtered. Mama and Papa got worse. Never saw 'em again. Went crazy, killed about another four of 'em until one banged me on the head, then banged me up in here. So there, story over. I hate fucking Eagles."  
>I'm crying. I know it. It's so stupid, and I've been here long enough to get over it too. Tears keep on welling up until they threaten to spill over like hot wax, but I can't have that. I will fight strong under Evan's name, under Mother's name, under Father's name, under the whole of my history's name. And there's no time for weeping while you're doing that, right?<p>

"That's sick. That's sick, that's sick. Monsters. Monsters! I thought I had it bad, but I've had heaven. I … I really feel sorry for you. It's not pitiful, it's just natural. Your brother … he wasn't really … ugh, that's … that's just …"

No no no don't cry now don't cry you musn't cry stay strong don't fall don't give in.

"Uhh … if you … if you could escape … if you could escape, what would you do next? Where would you go?"

"I can't go anywhere. I can't escape. You know that," I mutter in an even a voice as I can muster.

"That's not true."

"What do you-"

If there isanything I expect to interrupt me, it certainly isn't a hug. I'm not sure … do I want a hug? A hug from an Eagle? But he's not an Eagle, he's not one of them. So … maybe it's okay to hug back like I'm doing now?

"It's not a case of wanting a hug," Loren whispers into my hair, "It's a case of needing one."

**I'm really sorry that I haven't updated for so long, but with an awesome half-term following a stressful six weeks, I've just been exhausted. And I'm still exhausted. But by this time, I thought it would be cool to ramp up the intimacy a notch or two between Loren and our heroine. Read and Review – and thanks a lot, ButterTardis, for all your support ;) **

**XXX**


	7. I'm Going to Kill Him

Fresh air caresses my poor pale face. Fresh air! I know, right? So what if it's fresh Eagle air, air is air, and to be honest, I've only inhaled it in my dreams of late.

"This is impossible! I can't believe it!" I squeal, dancing around on the spot despite my aching limbs and complaining abdomen.

"Nothing's impossible. This was scheduled anyway," Loren smiles.

Of course he's right there. But if he's a real friend, then I don't care if he sees my random boogie of joy. Random boogieing was SOOO big, in the Dwarven taverns that I occasionally dipped into in my early teens. But then, it could just have been because they were literally_ that _drunk … Oh, who even _cares_?! I'm outside, and the world is hugging me so tight I can scarce _breath_! Naturally, nothing compares to a Loren hug, but then that was the first human contact I'd had in months. Human contact! God, the very thought scares me.

"Scheduled? You mean the Eagles couldn't stand me being cooped up in there any longer? Really?" I sputter, my jig halting in its tracks.

"Yup. You might die, I guess, if you don't get exercise for so long. I think you get this regular exercise for a few weeks from now on. New regime; there's this geezer called Diego in charge now."

Diego? Well, whatever, did this new leader have an ounce more moral than the last? Obviously so. Or it could just be the build-up to something worse.

"You're not exactly free either," Loren reminds me, "So you can't say whatever you want to, even out here."

Ah, only true. It sucks that there's about a half-dozen Eagle thugs stationed around the training yard. That's them, the stuck up loony perverts ogling me on top of the wall that borders the grounds.

"Don't you get too friendly with the girl, Stone!" shouts a swan from the left, sniggering as he continues, "One would think you _fancy _the prisoner!"

A couple more chickadees guffaw at the last comment. Ooh, _nice_! Now let's all go gave a _simply spiffing cup of tea _while we're at, my good chaps? I really don't know why, nor do I want to, it stirs my kickass blood.

"I can hardly see_ you _uglies as anyone but _loners_, b*stards!" I yell back, which of course takes them off guard completely. Prisoners around this dump aren't exactly full of energy, and even the guards are too flat out to retort properly.

"You're in LOVE!" they yell back, laughing maddeningly, "LOREN and the UGLY!"

Pure children. They're spitting insults like _eight year olds. _My _grandmother_, if she was still alive, would be able to insult better than them! Come to think of it though, all of the Riven bloodline are decent at verbal aggression. And physical aggression.

I remind myself of that as I march right up to one of them and slug him in the face.

"Ann!?" Loren yells, trying to sound thoroughly shocked, but I can still hear that inkling of admiration.

And, of course, that inkling spurs me on to punch him in the gut as well, before Loren's sturdy arms swoop down over me and he hauls me away.

"Manservant!" I shriek, having just decided on a new nickname for him, "Let me at 'em! My fists are gonna fly until they spit blood!"

"There'll be nothing for your fists to fly at by that time. See – look, they've run off!"

I turn my head around hesitantly, suspicious that it's just a trick to get me to stop beating everything within a two-metre radius of me.

It is. They're still there. Roaring their heads off with laughter. Pointing and jeering, at weak little me. A hot-headed toddler who needs supervision. Loren is the supervisor. He's the one who's caused my mockery. I hate this. I hate getting laughed out. I can't deal with this. Why don't they just stop laughing?! Stop! STOP!

Loren refuses to let me free. He doesn't even flinch when I start to assault him. What's worse is, he walks back into my cell with me still trapped as well.

When he's freed me, I slap him hard on the face. Thrice.

"Oww?! What the hell, Ann?!" he splutters, stunned. My flushed face, furiously twinkling eyes and bunched fists are answer enough.

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!" I scream right in his face, pushing him so violently that he staggers into a column, trips on a coil of rope and ends up on the ground. It's the same column as when I slapped him.

"Oh, I don't know …" he whispers, clambering to his feet. He's kept his voice dangerously silky and delicate, but I feel in no way safe, "How about … saving your life?"

"Saving my life?!" I shout, blind with rage and humiliation, "You don't know what you're talking about!"

Suddenly, I'm gone. Passed. Inaccessible from this world. In a dimension of my own. Time doesn't exist there. I just have to act on impulse. Act recklessly.

I kick Loren down, hard in the stomach. Feel the rough weave against the palm of my hand as I slip the coil of rope he's just tripped on through my fist. Relive utter torment as the Eagles laugh at me, lips twisted in ugly sneers. Hear the cries of torture. Venom leaks into my boiling veins, and I step forward. I can barely see Loren amongst splodges of red in my vision. It's still rope in my hand, but it's something else too, now. A _weapon_. Revenge.

I take another step. My foot trembles and threatens to slip from underneath me, but I won't allow it. No more humiliation. I come from proud people. I will _never _be insulted like that again. Not until my darkest hour. My pupils flex like my fingers over the lash. Loren's blinking, come back to his senses. His eyes find me. There's an emotion in them I've never seen before, not in anyone's.

Pity.

I hate it. But I can't stop it, and I want it too. His eyes are so green. I want more of his eyes. Any emotion would be fine in those by me.

My right foot comes down as heavily as my breathing. Livid. I've never felt like this before. My limbs ache, my heart on the verge of exploding. Loren's saying something, but I can't hear it. I can only hear the laughter, ringing in my ears. I hate that, too. I hate everything.

_Why can't it all just stop?!_

The final footfall comes silently. I have the whip in my hand, and I'm going to kill him. I've killed Eagles before. I'll do it again. He says he's not an Eagle, but he's just like the rest. I hate Eagles. I hate him. I am going to do it. I am going to kill.

I haven't known him for very long. Not long enough to become _attached_. For if I was attached to him, this would be harder, right? But even breathing seems hard at the moment. I raise the rope. We're not friends. I barely know him. All I know is, his eyes are really green. It's an emerald colour. I like it.

Something's wrong. The rope slips out of my hand. My eyes are focusing and refocusing too fast. Breathing is strained. The world is silent. Crimson stains my eyes. Loren gazes at me, concerned, on his knees. His lips are moving, but I can't hear anything anymore, just a swirling tempest of blood pounding on my eardrums.

Then the light goes out and I collapse.

**An extra long one for ButterTardis! You've been waaaay too patient! **

**I'll admit to feeling scared writing the last few paragraphs. I hate doing this to Ann and Loren; I love them too much. It's not fair on them. I'll take this chance to apologise to them:**

**Ann: What on ****_earth_****?! NOW you're apologising?! You've banged me up in jail, messed up my hair (I love my hair), killed half my family and made me nearly kill Loren?! I think this apology is a little overdue, missy!**

**Loren: Yeah! What she said! Just skip all these dumb arguments and near-death situations until a kiss scene! More kiss scenes!**

**Ann: What he s- wait, WHAT?! LOREN!? WHAT DID YOU SAAAAAY?!**

**xxx**


	8. Love's the Best Medicine - and corniest!

_"… But that's ridiculous!"_

_"I ain't the one settin' 'em, boy. You better talk to Diego 'bout that."_

_"Am I the only one around here with an ounce of human decency?! Prisoner or not, can't you see all that blood?!"_

_"She'll survive. Possibly."_

_"Look here; no, look at me. Seriously. Yeah. I've got a fist. Fancy a knuckle sandwich?"_

_"I hear 'ere's also 'the lash' on the menu t'night."_

Suddenly, a ricocheting BANG kicks my senses back into reality. My vision hazes into focus, finding me half on the floor, half in Loren's arms. The second half forms a rosy tinge over my cheeks, and at the same time tells me to pretend not to have awoken. I scan the two fighters (Loren and another stronger, hairier Eagle) before squeezing my eyes shut so tight a mouse's toenail couldn't penetrate.

"Bloody hell!" roars Loren, and I can really hear the anger in his voice, "Now is _not_ the time!"

Another petrifying crack lets fly a yell from Loren. Pain whips my torso in a tornado of agony too. I can feel the cold fluid start to pool on my body, but I manage only to release a moan. _Ha_. Now I could still be out cold. I want to hear what they don't think I'll hear, 'cause I'm a cunning minx like that, huh. I allow the pain to seep into me, let it ensnare me, promising that I can scream the place down afterwards it hurts so much.

"F*ckin' – you trying to _kill_ her now, oaf?! What good'll _that_ do?!"

Good. Loren doesn't want me dead. Even though _I_ tried to kill him before. I let the memory slip for the moment, and give it a shove deep into the regions of my brain that no one has ever come out alive from.

The sound of ripping fabric follows, and then the fresh wound inflicted is dabbed. Gently. Bandaging ensues. Thank-you Loren. Why did I ever try to hurt him? Why kill a friend?

He's a friend. I'll say it now. I'm not sure that I have any left but for him.

"Dunno what you're playing at, Stone, but … she ain't seein' no doctor, that's for sure."

I take this as my cue and bolt straight upright.

"Excuse me, mister, but hospitalisation sounds good right now. You certainly haven't done wonders to my complexion either. I'm thinking of compensation up to a _gazillion _bits of gold. Has someone called for the nurse? I can't say no to aspirins today," I whisper with a grin curling my lips, my eyes snapping open.

Both men seem utterly astonished. They don't retaliate when I brush the dust off my arms and legs and climb out of Lorens hold. I glance over both of them with raised eyebrows. Probably, they've gone into early hibernation. Something like that anyway. I take all the time in the world to look over my current situation, and compare it to recent history.

I got mad. I went beserk. I tried to kill Loren. I blacked out. I woke up. I got whipped. Yowch.

I study the weapon that gave out the lashing, still in the hairy seagull's hairy hand. Blood dirties the weaving. I take it from his grasp, hold it at arms length, and chuck it out the nearest window. Now I look at their expressions.

Except I can't really see a lot of them because Lorens' grabbe a fistful of my shirt, and I'm sort of in the air right now.

"_Loren_!?" I manage to choke out (he's blocking my windpipe a bit now), "_What_ _the_ … !?"

He's raising his hand. I swallow, but my throat remains dry. The individual fingers are bunching into a fist. My eyes widen, but I daren't look at him. I can't deserve that much as of now. I stare at the fist, imagine it uncurling, but no. He's going to punch me. Or slap me. I don't know which. I _want _him to do either. I need some kind of _punishment_. Retainment. Confinement. I need to know my limits, and he needs to teach me his. I've just kicked him, really, _really_ hard. In the gut. And then I … threatened? I threatened him? Yes … yes, I did lots of that. I also … walked a bit … I walked a bit _menacingly_. Oh god, yes, the menacing walk! He needs to _slap_ me. Super hard. On the face.

_Ten … nine … eight … seven … two _... five?

I never learned my numbers properly. I never went to school. My family was too poor, and baby bro needed me. Mum couldn't handle him on his own, now, could she? She was ill. _Terminally_. Dad had to work. I tried as much work as I could, but wherever I applied, I was turned down, with only one exception. Apparently, they could get arrested for child cruelty, or slavery, or pernickety like that in these dark days. So I went to the Wandering Tree … I know, right? Stupid name. How could a tree _wander? _But I was welcomed with warm arms. I remember that street, all the people, from Annisa the tailor, to the hairy blacksmith next door. That's where I met Jace, in that odd old pub. I think that was the first time I fell in love.

I swore I would never do it again.

Slapping doesn't hurt. Nor does punching. At least, Loren's punching and slapping doesn't. He's scarcely touching me, he's literally _brushing _me. He's being _gentle_. How could you _gently slap _someone. Loren's so weird. I squeeze open my eyes.

"Ann … I love you …"

**OMIGOD OMIGOD I'M SO AMAZING?! DOES ANYONE WANT A TRAGEDY?! I DON'T! TELL ME IF YOU DO! I MIGHT DO IT … BUT I LOVE HAPPY ENDINGS! I FEEL … LIKE I COULD EXPLODE! HA HA HA! I'M DEMENTED!  
>Oh yeah, and as always, thanks ButterTardis! ;P!<strong>


End file.
